


Black and White

by orlesiantitans



Series: 100 Themes [9]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 02:32:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5440202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orlesiantitans/pseuds/orlesiantitans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he first saw her, his knees buckled and he fell to them, staring at her like she was his first glimpse of the sun in years. She, in return, had her eyes almost comically wide as she looked at him, mouth opening and closing in an odd imitation of a fish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black and White

When he first saw her, his knees buckled and he fell to them, staring at her like she was his first glimpse of the sun in years. She, in return, had her eyes almost comically wide as she looked at him, mouth opening and closing in an odd imitation of a fish.

His first thought was that she’d cursed him. He could feel the magic that hummed through her, feel the dull ache and pull of magic against the markings on his skin.

But the look on her face, the shock that matched his own, was enough for him to put the thought to the side for a moment, though not enough to dismiss it entirely. She pointed at him and then let out a huff of laughter.

“Well, of all the things I’d pictured happening today, I have to say that meeting my ‘one and only’ wasn’t on the list. You certainly didn’t exaggerate this color thing, Carver, it’s excellent!” she grinned widely at the man next to her, and he rolled his eyes in response but didn’t speak. Fenris swallowed and stood, brushing off his knees.

“One and only?”

At that, she recoiled slightly in surprise. The one she’d called Carver raised an eyebrow, the dwarf flanking her other side doing the same. It was the small elven woman all but hanging off Carver’s arm, however (and he had to briefly wonder how she held him so tightly) that actually spoke up.

“You don’t know of _nas’falon?_ Of soulmates?” she asked, and he shifted uncomfortably at the Elvish. It always made the side of his brain itch, the sensation that there was something he had to remember. But it was always, always just out of reach, so he did his best to ignore it. But it was the dwarf that interrupted.

“It’s that obvious, huh, Daisy? Glad I don’t have to deal with all this soulmate business, it’s too… complicated.”

Fenris folded his arms across his chest, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. He knew what a soulmate was, he wasn’t a complete moron. He’d heard talk among the Fog Warriors, during his short stay with them. When they’d speak of _Asala-Kost_ , the state of peace in the soul. He’d never known what they’d meant, exactly, only that everyone could achieve it, ‘when the time was right’.

He probably would have learned more, if he hadn’t let them die.

“Soulmates. You mean all this… brightness… means you’re…” he pointed at the woman, and she threw her head back and laughed at his expression. He felt his own lips twitch slightly in response, and confusion, and she nodded.

“Don’t worry though. I’m not my brother. I won’t be bedding you next week,” she pointedly looked at Carver, who sighed his frustration.

“Anyway. I’m Marian Hawke. As you might’ve gathered, this is my brother, Carver, his soulmate, Merrill, and this is Varric. He’s a dwarf, so he’s all used to this color. Lucky bastard.”

She shot Varric a mischievous grin, and he felt his heart stop for a moment before he brushed it off. He nodded his assent, before folding his arms across his chest.

“Fenris. I apologize for the deception…”

* * *

Varric sat him down shortly after he joined Hawke’s entourage, poured him a drink, and offered him a smile. He took a long swig of his drink before getting interrupted by Varric.

“So. How’re you getting used to a world with color? I understand it’s hard to get used to. Speaking of that, you and Hawke, have you…?” he raised an eyebrow, and Fenris rested his head against the table edge.

  
“I’m not talking about this, dwarf.”

* * *

He hadn’t slept with her. Hadn’t slept with anyone because he _wanted_ tobefore.

* * *

It had been three years since he’d known her, and he hadn’t made a move. She hadn’t pushed, either, there was just a comfortable push-pull of flirting and trying to come to terms with things. He’d learned color. He’d ended up having a rather antagonistic relationship with only one member of their group- Anders (a bitter man by all accounts, having killed his own soulmate after the man was made tranquil) was touchy about anything involving mages, and they’d really only gotten to a stage in their relationship that could be called ‘tolerance’.

While he was far from ‘friends’ with the blood mage, he’d tried to be as kind as he could be to something he hated. He knew she found it difficult being separated from Carver, she said everything seemed ‘duller around the edges’ since he’d become a Grey Warden. That her only comfort was knowing he was alive, in a way.

And then Hadriana had returned, and he’d killed her, and then Hawke had tried to help him. That wonderful, impossible woman. He’d confronted her outside her house, and she’d told him he didn’t have to leave. Touched him. It scared him, his skin was sensitive and painful thanks to the markings. He’d pressed her against a wall, only for her to respond by grabbing him when he tried to move. And then they’d been kissing, first gently, and then harder, with a kind of passion and fire he hadn’t known.

When they were in her bedroom, it was a battle for dominance- he wasn’t going to give up his control easily- and eventually they were on even footing. His hands gripped her arse as they fell back onto the bed, and their clothes fell to the ground, a small pile next to her bed.

He wasn’t sure what he expected to feel. It was… wonderful. Better than he’d thought, to be able to have that with someone he lov- cared for. He wasn’t ready to use that word, not yet. But things quickly soured. His climax came as a shock, and he pulled her close to him. Suddenly, as quickly as the release of the tension in his lower belly, memories flowed through him. His eyes flew open, and he let out a breath of shock.

_“Leto!” a young girl running across the fields to him, throwing her arms around him._

_His mother sitting with her sewing, looking up at the children. Her eyes sad, so sad, “Varania, dear, do stop ruffling Leto’s hair.”_

_“I’m going to get your freedom! I can fight in this, and he’ll grant me a boon! You and mother can be free!” he yells, and Varania looks like she wants to cry, but nods regardless._

And then it left him just as quickly. Bereft of all of them, slipping through his fingers. Hawke slid off of him, letting out a small huff of pleasure.

“ _That_ … well. That was… _that_ ,” she laughed, and he wished he could join in, but instead he just nodded and let her cuddle into his side. Loosely, he wrapped his arms around her, closing his eyes as she fell asleep. As carefully as possible, he left the bed, gathering up his clothes and slipping into them. He glanced to her bedside table, and noticed there was a small red ribbon lying there. He knew that he shouldn’t, but he picked it up regardless. Tied around his wrist, a sliver of red against the grey of his gauntlet, he stared at it for a moment before his hand dropped to his side.

A reminder that he’d never get what he wanted. His past would always take that away from him.

* * *

The years passed. Things were awkward between himself and Hawke for a time, but it improved, and he was fairly sure the pain lessened slightly. She was able to look him in the eye, and even shot him little flirtatious smiles when she ended up losing her clothes during games of Wicked Grace.

Aveline settled down- said that even though Donnic wasn’t her soulmate, he was someone she cared for more deeply than she thought she would after the death of her late husband. The Guardsman himself had told Fenris over drinks that he’d met his soulmate years before, but that she’d given up on waiting for him. She was married to someone she loved, and had children, and he was in no place to mess that up.

It was the first he’d heard of soulmates not being the ones people stayed with. He half-wondered if he’d be better leaving and letting Hawke move on with someone else. If it was possible for them- why not for her? But even the _thought_ of her moving on made his stomach twist uncomfortably, made him feel sick. And so he knew that they’d have to talk about it sooner or later.

It all came to a head when he met Danarius again. He’d thought it would just be his sister, that perhaps he’d be able to recover some of his life from before the markings. But she’d betrayed him, and his former master strolled into the Hanged Man with complete confidence, belief that Fenris would just return to his service.

“Do I detect a note of jealousy? I don’t blame you, the lad is quite talented.”

Fenris felt his heart drop, his anger rise. How _dare_ he bring up the days he had no free will, how dare he talk to Hawke that way? How dare he act as though Fenris was a _willing_ participant in _that_? He hadn’t known any better! His hand clenched at his side, and a fight broke out.

Nothing he’d experienced so far, none of it, compared to watching the light leave his former master’s eyes.

He wanted to kill Varania, but he didn’t. Varric had held him back, told him that it wouldn’t help, and no matter how much he wanted to _kill_ that _woman_ , his _sister_ , he didn’t. He let her go.

Hawke came to visit him afterwards. Of course she did, she was always checking up on him. It was then that he brought it up. That night. And she forgave him, Maker, she forgave him. He kissed her and she returned it, sweet on his lips, before leading him up to the bedroom and letting them be as one again.

  
This time, the memories floated in and out of focus, but he was so completely absorbed in the woman in front of him, in the swelling in his chest when he looked at her, that he didn’t _care_. He had all the family he needed there with him, and regardless of what had happened in the past, he needed to focus on the future.

* * *

Of course, that happiness couldn’t last. It never did. The mage, Anders, blew up the Chantry, forced them all to live as fugitives. He and Hawke were on the move for months before they found somewhere to hide, somewhere reasonably ‘safe’.

And regardless of it’s ‘safety’, they still had to move again after only a few months there, when the frowns and whispers grew to be more obvious.

It was two years after the destruction of the Chantry, the year bordering on 9:40, that they received one of the few correspondences from Varric. A warning.

_Had a Seeker poking around. On way to Val Royeaux. Testifying about Kirkwall to Conclave. Watch your backs._

_-VT_

This worried him. He felt like he had to be on watch, constantly, even though Hawke raised an eyebrow at him more than once and told him to stop looking so panicked. He just folded his arms across his chest and muttered under his breath about having reason to be panicked, about how their death was imminent.

She just laughed it off, of course. She told him they’d be fine, that even though the world was on shaky legs, it was still standing. That everything would be okay.

Only a year later, the Conclave was destroyed, Haven buried, and she left in the middle of the night.

_Got a letter from Alistair the other day. Also, Varric. Warden-y problems, and apparently an Inquisition-y problem. Off to save the day again! Remember to feed yourself. Carver and Merrill are nice and safe in Antiva, if you want to go visit them. DO NOT try to follow me. I will get my dwarf to tie you up nice and snug in lots of ropes and dangle you from one of Skyhold’s towers, I swear._

_I love you._

_Marian_

* * *

He remembers what Hawke told him one night, when they had peace. They’d been passing a bottle of wine between them, the name of which he’d long since forgotten, when she’d leaned her head back against the wall and started to tell him about when her father died.

“He was sick for a long time. We don’t know what, exactly, but we couldn’t very well get a healer for him. He was an apostate. Bethany and I did our best for him, but he died all the same. Mother said that when he was gone, everything went back to the way it was before. All black and white and boring. Apparently that’s what happens when your soulmate dies.”

He’s sitting in the front room of Carver and Merrill’s cottage, mabari at his feet, the blood mage knitting in the corner, when he blacks out briefly. He wakes moments later to worried voices, but it barely registers what they’re saying, because it’s gone. The colour is gone, and that means…

“ _No_ ,” he breathes out, and Carver’s eyes snap to him. He sinks to the floor, repeating that word over and over again as if that will change the fact that she’s gone.

“She can’t be dead, she can’t be, this isn’t happening, she is not dead,” he whispers, and Carver himself falls to the chair at that point, hands clasped over his mouth, Merrill sitting next to him and gently taking his arm in her own. She reaches down to place a hand on Fenris’ shoulder, but he doesn’t want the comfort. He stands, paces the room a few times, and then exits. He goes to his own room, a small, modest affair, but enough for his mourning. That’s when he catches a glimpse of it out of the corner of his eye.

A red ribbon, still as vibrant as the day he placed it around his wrist.

Perhaps all hope is not lost.

Perhaps… it is time he pays Lord Inquisitor Lavellan a visit.


End file.
